


Two Lives at the End of the World

by DianaSolaris



Category: Sense8 (TV)
Genre: Apocalypse, F/F, Nuclear Warfare, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 13:38:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15316659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DianaSolaris/pseuds/DianaSolaris
Summary: It's the end of the world, and Riley Blue's been having dreams about a life that isn't hers.





	Two Lives at the End of the World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tide_ms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tide_ms/gifts).



                It’s seven days since the world ended, and Riley Blue’s MP3 player is almost out of juice. Still, she plays the song through her headphones as loud as she can as she steers her bike in and out of the abandoned cars, glancing through the windows to check for – well, she’s not sure. She doesn’t want a gun, and she’s terrified of finding a body, and anybody who left their car would have taken their food with them.

                But she looks anyway, Explosions in the Sky playing guitar chimes through the air that’s taken on an unnatural stillness.

                The whole thing is rather stupid. Britain wasn’t even bombed. The wars these days don’t have anything to do with the United Kingdom – Britain is a bloated corpse of an empire, thriving off the fumes of its glory days, and nothing proves it more than how quickly all of its citizens ran for shelter.

                Riley is – sort of – doing the same.

                She’d been ready to dive into the bomb shelter ( _just in case)_ when –

                -well.

                She started having the dreams.

\---

                Seoul, South Korea is a pile of ashes, slag and radioactive glow, and Bak Sun can feel its loss like a knife in her heart. She loves her city, not for any sentimental or nationalistic reasons, but simply because she knew the streets by heart and the ebb and flow of its rituals, the steady inhale-exhale of the work day fading into the nightclubs and then into the silent, peaceful hour in the morning before everybody else has woken up.

                That’s all gone now. And Bak Sun, one-time CFO of a company that was Going Places, that was Successful, is sitting in a French airport with a dog at her feet, all of her earthly possessions in her lap, and feeling like she must be going crazy. Not _just_ because she’s lost everything in the single press of a button, and not just because her connecting flight to South Africa is four hours late, but because she can faintly hear music that doesn’t belong in an airport.

                It’s relaxing enough for music. But she’s going through her possessions anywhere, trying to figure out where the soft chimes are coming from.

                It isn’t the first time this has happened lately, either. Sun is starting to wonder if she caught some excess radiation, or if the last plane out of Seoul flew just a little bit too late, because she’s been seeing the same white-haired girl out of the corner of her eye for the last week.

                She decides she must be hallucinating out of stress, and packs up her bag. “Jindo, stay.”

                He does so, and she knots his leash to the chair just to be sure. She can’t imagine what she’d do if Jindo went missing. It’s a miracle they allowed him on the plane at all, but during emergency flights, you can get away with a lot more

                (Especially when you’re a CFO, when you have money, when-)

                Sun ducks into the bathroom, running away from her own thoughts, and stares into the mirror. _Don’t worry about it,_ she tries to remind herself.

                And then, suddenly, the white-haired girl is staring back at her.

                Sun tears back from the sink. It’s no coincidence, at least in her mind, that she’s seeing a girl with the colour of death sprouting from her head.

                But then the girl speaks. “Am I dreaming?”

                “No,” Sun exhales, but she doesn’t know what to say beyond that. Is she a wraith, a ghost? Is she a demon? A punishment?

                The girl blinks, then pulls her headphones down from her head. “…Who are you?”

                “Bak Sun.” Sun is ready to ask who she is, but she doesn’t want to know.

                “I’m Riley. Where are you?” And then Riley steps out of the mirror like it’s a window, sliding right through the sink like it doesn’t exist.

                Sun turns and runs. Fear is a weakness – but sometimes, it’s a warning, too.

\----

                Riley keeps thinking the dreams _must_ have started after the bombs had dropped all over America. It just made sense – all that death, all that suffering – for it to spill over into her mind.

                Of course, the dreams had started _before_ then. So maybe they had been a warning. Riley couldn’t figure out how recurring dreams about another woman, another life, in the shower or naked in bed or just going about her business could be a warning – but the Hidden People worked in strange ways. All the dream had really _told_ her is that it was time to go to France. France would be safe.

                Riley comes to a halt . She can see the Channel from where she is, its waters surprisingly clear in the sun.

                And between her and the Channel is a woman staring at her in terror.

                It’s the woman from her dreams.

                “Am I dreaming?” Riley asks.

                “No,” the woman replies. She looks so scared.

“Who are you?” Riley asks.

“Bak Sun.”

And just like that, Riley feels like she’d known this woman her whole life. She takes a step forward, meaning to comfort her – and then she’s somewhere else. A bathroom, small and linoleum-covered, with specks of graffiti here and there. “Riley.” She looks around. “Where are you?”

But instead of answering, Sun runs for the door. Riley follows her, and there’s some sort of – skip, she doesn’t know how to describe it – and she’s somewhere else again. “You’re in an airport,” she breathes.

Sun buries her hand into her dog’s fur. “Why are you following me?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how this works.”

“How what works?”

“I’m in England, right now. I think I’m still there.” Riley laughs suddenly. This is all so _strange._ But the world ending is strange. The apocalypse is strange. This? This is a blessing. This is human contact when she hasn’t seen another face in days. “Where are you?” she asks again.

Sun’s grip on the dog’s fur relaxes. “…France.”

“France! That’s where I’m going!”

“I’m not staying. I’m headed to South Africa. They say it’s safest there.”

Riley nods. “How long have you been waiting?”

Sun glances up at the board, then frowns. “…Too long.”

Then Riley is back in England again, staring at the Channel, wondering how she was going to get to France, wondering why her lips were tingling.

_Bak Sun._

\----

                Somewhere between her entering the bathroom and her emerging, the flight has been cancelled. She hadn’t heard it, but the attendant insists there’d been an announcement Sun doesn’t believe her, but nothing is quite as it seems anymore.

                _It’s the end of the world._

Sun doesn’t like that thought. She doesn’t like it any more than the persistent needling idea that Riley is some sort of portent. She is a reasonable woman. Not superstitious. Still, apparently some things embedded in childhood rise up in one’s brain again during moments of stress.

                “Thank you,” she says to the attendant not meaning it, and takes Johei by the leash, and leaves the airport. She checks her phone. There have been no threats made against France. In fact, there have been no further threats made at all. Apparently the bombs dropped on East Asia and the US are enough.

                Sun swallows, and swallows again.

                - _they died they all died and you, you were on a comfy jet liner-_

Not worth being concerned about. She needs to find a hotel.

                A few moments later, she’s made aware of Riley beside her again.

                “You’re back,” she says quietly.

                “I’m walking through the tunnel. I don’t like the dark. So I’m here instead, trying not to think about it.”

                “The dark?” Sun looks up at the sun that was high in the sky. “I don’t understand.”

                Then she’s where Riley is, and trying not to scream. It’s almost pitch black, except for a few strips of emergency lighting, and –

                She looks down, feels asphalt under her thin shoes. “Road?”

                “This is the Channel Tunnel,” Riley whispers, and it still echoes around the concrete, getting louder and louder then finally winking out of existence.

                Sun takes them back to France, trying to breathe. Riley looks more than a little haggard. “And that’s how you’re getting here?”

                “Yes. It lets out at Calais.”

                “I’m in Paris.”

                “That’s only a few hours away.”

                Sun can’t help a smile. “I never said I was meeting you.”

                “Oh, but you should!” Riley cocks her head, blue streak framing her chin. “Are you meeting anybody else?”

                “…No.”

                “You’re all alone, just like me.”

                “I’m not alone. I have my dog.”

                “That’s true. He’s a very lovely dog.”

                Sun closes her eyes and sighs. She is not a superstitious woman. She will not let this take over her. “How long until you reach Calais?”

                “Maybe an hour? I’m not sure.”

                “I will meet you there. In part, to make sure that you _are_ real and I’m not simply hallucinating.”

                “Oh, wonderful! I don’t suppose you could bring some food.”

                “I’m sure I can manage something.”

\---

                Riley Blue doesn’t like the dark. Even more than that, though, she doesn’t like being alone, especially when it’s getting colder and colder down here, like winter is coming early.

                Being alone for this long isn’t good for her. It lets her memories run wild, lets thoughts she can normally suppress come to the surface again –

                - _had it been this dark when Magnus crashed-_

_-is that the sound of a car-_

Riley closes her eyes and keeps walking, but her feet are shaking. She just needs to get her bike to the other end of the tunnel.

                How much further is it?

                _-Luna was so little and so soft and so vulnerable-  
                -remember how she felt do you remember how she felt-_

Like an image hanging in the air, she can see it, like it’s happening to somebody else this time, the car going too fast, the screeching sound of the brakes –

                Riley drops her bike, and the clattering sound of it against the asphalt makes her scream. She drops to the ground, burying her face in her hands, and she can’t, she _can’t_ stop. It’s the end of the world, and there’s nobody here with her, and all she wants is to die, all over again.

                _Stop,_ she begs her own mind. _Stop. You’re a survivor, isn’t that what everybody says? Stop, please. Let me do this._

“Are you alright?”

                Riley’s sobs stick in her throat. It’s Sun. “I-I’m-“ _fine,_ she tries to lie, but it doesn’t work. She can feel Sun’s eyes on her, soft and surprised.

                “You really are all alone.”

                It’s hurtful but understanding, jabbing straight into Riley’s heart. It certainly doesn’t help her stop crying. But a moment later, Riley watches her own body get to its feet and continue walking. It’s Sun, suddenly, instead of her, holding the bike and continuing along the tunnel’s path.

                Sun doesn’t say anything. Riley doesn’t mind – she can feel the promise anyway, through whatever connection they share.

                _You don’t have to be alone anymore._

And maybe it's because it's the end of the world and there's no more room for distrust or lies or hate, or because Riley's too tired to be paranoid, but she believes that it's true.

\----

It’s bright and sunny in Calais, and Sun is waiting at the end of the tunnel. For all that she’s managed to convince herself that Riley is real, it’s still a shock when she finally does emerge from the entrance, tearstained face breaking into a smile.

“Hi.”

Sun feels like she should say something of import, something significant, but instead all she can do is smile back.

“Hello.”

Then Riley takes her hand, and nothing could be more significant than that.

“Do you know what’s happening to us?” she asks Riley.

“I have no idea. Does it matter?”

Sun supposes, in the end, it doesn’t.


End file.
